“Because you’re my girl,” he said. “I love you, Cora. You’re on your own, and you need someone to look after you. Well, I’m going to be that someone.”
She leaned hack and crossed her legs. “You?” she said. “Don’t make me laugh. What have you got to offer me? Why, you can’t even look after yourself.”
“We’ll see about that,” George said grimly. “If Ernie tries any funny stuff, he’ll be sorry!”
Cora’s jeering expression suddenly changed to blazing rage. "If you interfere with me,” she exclaimed, jumping up, “I’ll make you sorry! I’m going to do what I like! I’m in the market. The man who offers most gets me.”
Again George’s slow mind groped for inspiration from Frank Kelly. Kelly always kept his women. He treated them tough and loaded them with jewels. But how could he do that? Now he had got Sydney out of the way, he wasn’t going to lose her. Little Ernie could give her the world. He had just got to compete with Little Ernie.
“What do you want?” he asked abruptly, struggling to conceal his doubts and fears.
“What do you mean?” she demanded.
“You’re in the market, aren’t you?” he said, clenching his fists. “Well, then, what’s the price?”
“I think you must be drunk or mad,” she said angrily, and turned away. “What can you give me? Leave me alone and peddle your silly hooks!”
George sat down. He took out a cigarette and lit it. His hands were steady, his mind coldly determined.